The American Horror Story
by TheManThatWritesStories
Summary: A permanent resident in 'Murder House', a doctor who's just as insane as his patients, an awful 'business' venture, and a prospective buyer of 'Murder House'. What could possibly go wrong?


Uneven planks of the attic floor creaked and groaned softly as a little red ball was rolled back and forth, back and forth across them. On one side of the unending game of pong was a large, disfigured mass of blissful unawareness to what the world outside those walls held. Across from him, Beau was his name, was a grungy, curly-haired teenager whose nerves were fraying just as the holes in his jeans were.

Nothing lived in those dark eyes of his. They weren't simply empty however; they weren't filled.

Multiple losses in his life had taught him to live for himself. He didn't need anyone in the world. They hadn't needed him, so why should he give them the satisfaction?

A ray of sunlight shone brightly on his face through a slit in the boarded window, which was coincidentally the only window in the attic.

_It must be setting_, he thought. He unhappily rolled the ball back to Beau and gave him a quick hug and kiss before trudging back down the stairs and shutting the attic door.

After 20 years of being in this house, he had developed a routine. Every night, after playing with Beau, he would go out into the backyard, gazing up at the stars until he fell asleep, got bored, or his thoughts got the best of him. Usually it was one of the latter two, because he hadn't slept in what seemed like an eternity.

As his sneakers slapped the wooden stairs on his way down, a shadow ghosted across the wall down the hallway. Assuming that it was one of the others that resided here, he hung a left at the landing and creaked open the door to the basement. The pipes creaked and groaned as if welcoming him home, and he slid his calloused hand along the rough railing, silently relishing how real it felt. Feeling natural things anchored him to this world and realm, as if he would float away at any moment.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he pulled his cardigan sleeves over his hands. Not because it was cold, but because he could feel a presence in this room that he hadn't felt in almost 3 years.

The name ghosted over his lips, but he dare not say it in this house ever again. Not after what he'd done.

After standing for a few minutes, the feeling in his stomach settled, and he proceeded to the door that led to the backyard.

As if on cue, the purple twilight swallowed the sun, leaving the sky filled with tiny pinpricks of light. The constellations automatically showed themselves to him, used to his presence at their never-ending show.

His neck hairs stood up as the grass grabbed at him, enveloping and letting him lie on their pillow. A sigh escaped his lips, and it held the name that he hadn't dared spoken in all that time. Somehow, someway... The stars shined a little bright once he said it.

* * *

><p>"Bette! Dot! We need to go!" yelled Dr. Oliver Threadson, silently resenting the fact that it took woman so freaking long to get ready. Not to mention the fact that this particular woman had <em>two heads. <em>

"We're coming! Cool it!" Dot yelled back. He smirked at how different their demeanors were, despite sharing the same body from the neck down.

Dot had always been the careful one. She was introverted, tactical, and she always had an escape route when things got a little too crazy. She liked to consider herself the reason that she and her sister had survived.

Bette, however, was basically the opposite. She was outgoing, flirtatious, and impulsive to say the least. Whenever the sisters saw boys, Bette would think _I wonder if _he _would like us! _while Dot would think _Let's avoid him. He looks too dangerous. He'd sell us to the circus. _

All of that had changed when they had met Doctor Threadson at one of the many hospitals that they had been through. He had taken care of them as if they were his own, made them feel special, and made them feel _human_. They could both agree that he was the first of _anyone _to do that.

As they strode into the room, confidence radiating off of them, Dr. Threadson gave them an up-and-down look, surveying every inch of their body in the new dress he'd gotten them.

"So?" Bette asked anxiously, giving a quick twirl, "What do you think?"

"I think you both look beautiful. The people at the community dinner are going to be blown away!" he said with an excited smile, and Bette's adorable grin lit up her features. Even Dot cracked a small smile when she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

"After you," Dr. Threadson said as he held the front door of his house open for the girls to walk out in front of him. As their gaze left his, his smile dropped. "Stupid bitches," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

><p>"It's an 18th century Victorian, and it's just as beautiful inside as it is out!" Marcy says cheerfully as she trots up the front steps, her heels clicking loudly as a taller girl follows her.<p>

"My, my. It truly is," the girl says, and she flicks her brown bangs out of her face.

Marcy studies the girl subtly as the girl shoves her hands in her hoodie pockets, obviously anxious about buying her first house. She smirks slightly as the girl turns a full circle, trying to take everything in at first glance.

"Shall I show you around?" Marcy asks, and she doesn't wait for the girl to nod before she's headed towards the main living room.

"It's got three beds, each with its own bathroom, as well as a basement and screened-in sitting porch," Marcy says, ticking off the specs in her head as she goes. The girls eyebrows furrow confusedly when hearing this.

"Why is it so cheap then? I mean it's obviously bigger and better than all of the other houses around her. What's wrong with it?" she half-joked, her curiosity getting the best of her as she said it.

Marcy seemed to deflate, an unknown emotion filling her brown eyes. Fear?

"Well... as a realtor, I'm forced to provide full disclosure of what has happened here in the last ten years," she says reluctantly, and the girl's skin pales, "so, here goes. About two years ago, there was a brutal murder-suicide between the gay couple that had resided here at that time. They found their bodies in the basement. And just last year, a whole family of three was killed here. The husband went insane and shot his pregnant wife and daughter, then hung himself from that very chandelier."

She pointed up, and her large green eyes followed Marcy's finger to the chandelier. It looked so normal, and yet... it had an eerie air around it. The girl shuddered and returned her eyes to Marcy's.

"So shall we finish the tour then?" she asked, her cheerful disposition returning.

The girl nodded hesitantly and followed Marcy up the stairs.

* * *

><p>Once they had finished the tour, they were standing on the stairs. The girl's brain was racked, moving at 100 mph trying to process all of the information she'd just been given.<p>

"So! I'll call you if we get another offer on the house, Ms...?"

"Bertrand," the girl said, once again flicking her bangs out of her eyes, "Grace Bertrand."

A head full of blonde, curly locks watched as Marcy gave yet another poor sucker the house tour. Except... this 'prospective buyer' intrigued him. He'd have to do some research on her later. He smiled slightly to himself, a warm feeling that he hadn't felt in a long time beginning to build in his stomach.


End file.
